“And until I had it fixed in my mind – unchanged, mysterious and beautiful”

By not asking too much, you can believe in almost anything..like..a starry night in the mountains, or even the existence of fate.

I’m not who you think I am, I had said to T.J. the last time I’d seen him. Maybe I wasn’t who I’d thought I was either.

When people went on vacation, they shed their home skins, thought they could be a new person.

It was always the same ocean, but the waves made it fresh and new each time.

After all, our families–our ancestors–are our identities. Biology is destiny.

Summer-induced stupidity. That was the diagnosis.

I suddenly understood. Mom and I weren’t trespassing. This house was ours. This view was ours. And that seemed as absurd and unreal as the stories Sailor Hat had spun for me on the ferry.

…Promises are more dangerous then secrets.

I watched the land for as long as I could, until it disappeared behind its shawl of mist.

Come find me,” Leo put in, his gaze full of understanding. “Whenever you want. I’ll be here.

My skin prickled and I looked back at the ocean. None of us ask for the things we inherit; they are thrust upon us, willy-nilly. Like The Marine.

I couldn’t think. The basics of my life seemed altered and thrown into question.

It struck me then how much the past – not just the past but history and family – was like the ocean tide.

The woods were peopled by the mysterious good folk. The Lords and Ladies of the last century walked with me along the overgrown paths, and picked the old fashioned flowers among the box and rose hedges of the garden.

God moves in mysterious ways His wonders to performs

God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.

God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm.

The secret island had looked mysterious enough on the night they had seen it before – but now, swimming in the hot June haze, it seemed more enchanting than ever.

How did you get in?” “i move in mysterious ways.” “god moves in mysterious ways. You move like lightening-here one moment, gone the next.

Translation is entirely mysterious. Increasingly I have felt that the art of writing is itself translating, or more like translating than it is like anything else.

Don’t be mysterious; there isn’t the time.